


Mornings of the Round Table

by MissMontague



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Briarwoods are abusive we've been known, Cassandra blames herself but she will get better, Cassandra de Rolo Needs a Hug, Cassandra heals, Chroma Conclave Arc, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I started writing this as a vent, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, More characters will be added as we go, Not Beta Read, Post-Briarwood Arc (Critical Role), Thank gods for Grammarly, The description of violence are not that graphic but I wanna be safe, please help me tag this properly this is new to me, references to death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-09-24 12:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20358682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMontague/pseuds/MissMontague
Summary: There is one book that she is looking for right now. She remembers Percy mentioning something about a noble king and his loyal knights. Some fictional badassery and loyalty couldn’t hurt right now.___While her brother is busy fighting monsters that growl and bite, Cassandra fights monsters that live in her head. Just like Percival, she has a party who helps her fight. A brilliant wizard, an Elementalist, a cleric who can't resist the call of adventure, a glorious sorcerer, a guard with a passion for cooking, and someone who understands. She could have never asked for a better party.





	1. In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: In My Dreams - Anastasia the Musical

There are people who hate mornings while others love them. Cassandra de Rolo doesn’t have an opinion on them. Most tend to loathe the fact that they have to get out of bed and let go of the comforting wrap of sleep, but to Cassandra, nothing is comforting about sleep. She finds herself struggling against the cold grasp of night terrors.

  
Cassandra sees some of her fondest memories in her dreams through a warped lens. She sees her family again, but it is not comforting. It is painful. She is taken back to the occasions when she would sit on the roof with Vesper and stargaze. Vesper would let her hair down and let her shoulders relax. Something that happened less and less as the years passed. When she turns to look at her sister, she sees a mangled body beside her. The way she saw her eldest sibling after she fell from the watchtower. Her bones fractured, limbs turned in unnatural ways, nose pushed deep into the skull. Blood starts to pour out from her. Cassandra starts crawling back away as more and more blood spreads on the roof. She is taken back to the times when she would study with Julius in her father's office, but when she looks up from the parchment, her oldest brother stops talking. He is gasping for air, with a crossbow bolt piercing his throat. She is taken back to when the twins and she would run off into the gardens and disappear there for hours. She sees the twins pulling her after them to the green walls, but their skin is pale, covered with deep crimson blood and deep purple bruises. Their eyes are sunken and lifeless. Cassandra tries to pull away, but they hold on tighter. She cannot run away. She is taken back to when Ludwig and she were still very young. The times when they were playing with toy knights on the floor of the bedroom. As she looks down at the toys, blood starts to splatter, staining the carpet, and as she looks for the source, there is her brother, a gash going right through his whole upper body. He stumbles back, looking at her in horror. She is taken back to tea time with her parents, but the longer she looks at their faces, the more they start to look like Sylas and Delilah.

No. No. Her parents are Fredrickstein and Johanna de Rolo, not Sylas and Delilah Briarwood.

She sees Delilah, Sylas, and their partners in crime in her nightmares too, although it is getting harder to differentiate nightmares from actual memories these days. Sometimes she is taken back to the tea time with Delilah, but their cups are filled to the brim with a crimson liquid. Lady Briarwood gets up and brings a burning hot rod to Cassandra's chin, making her look up at the cold eyes of a killer. At other times she sees herself back at the dining table, with Delilah sitting right across from her, and Sylas’ hands placed firmly on her shoulders as his teeth sink into her neck. Doctor Ripley ties her to a chair and presses a knife against her neck. She leaves Cassandra alone in the cell with the rats for days. The young de Rolo cannot help it. She doesn't know anything about Residuum.

She sees nightmares where she is alone. She stands in the dark kitchen as blood purs down her arms. It's not enough. It's never enough. She goes for her stomach. The world fades to black. It doesn't make sense why the pain doesn't make her scream. At this point, she is questioning whether it's because it is a nightmare or because she is so used to the pain.

More recently, new nightmares started coming to her. Nightmares of Vox Machina. She sees the large Goliath, named Grog, as she recalls, holding her by the neck. His grip isn't enough to choke her to death, but she still gasps for air. He is about to drop her to her death. She doesn't fight back. Cassandra knows that he did not drop her that, but in her sleep, it feels as if he will. And he does. And she falls, and falls, and falls. She falls until she wakes up stifling, gasping for air. Her body never hit the ground. She sees the half-elf rogue, Vax'ildan, press the dagger against her neck, “One wrong step, Cassandra.” 

The worst nightmares are of her brother. Percival. She is taken back to when she found him in the cell. She is taken back to when they were running across the snow, but instead of the arrows piercing her back, they hit Percy's neck and he falls, the snow turning crimson around him. The world fades and they are back to the dungeon two weeks ago. He is pointing the gun at her as smoke starts coalescing around him. Curing up his arms and legs from under the coat. She can see a creature forming behind him. A bird skull is as much as she can make out before there is the loud sound of a gunshot and she wakes up screaming with a pain in her chest that she cannot relate to anything that she has felt before.

The times when she is awake she feels…

She doesn’t know how she feels. Paranoid, angry, distraught. All of those mix into something terrifying. The emotion she feels the strongest is the loathing for herself. She has harmed so many people. Herself, brother, his friends, and her people. She still can’t forgive herself for it. She looks in the mirror and sees a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Whenever she dresses she sees the scars left on her from the Briarwoods and she feels disgusted. She let this happen.

She covers herself from neck to toe. She doesn't want to be reminded of just how pathetic she is. When choosing what to wear, she can hear Vesper’s voice echo in the back of her mind. “Navy blue suits you better than sky blue, dear sister.” She follows that advice. She finds a deep blue jacket that she “borrowed” from her mother years ago. It seems to fit as if it was made for Cassandra, which makes the young de Rolo want to crawl out of her skin. She pushes past the feeling through the day, trying to forget the fact that she is in her mother’s clothing. She should go out to the town to buy new clothes. That could also help support some of the newer businesses rising in town.

Now that Vox Machina has left for Emon, Cassandra was alone once again. Her life fell into a dull routine. She woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, and got to work. She stayed in the study for hours, sometimes long after sundown. She rarely, if ever had free time to herself, but when she does, she does not want to be alone with her thoughts. Instead, she tries out hobbies. She tries painting, playing the violin, and gardening, but all of it reminds her too much of the past. She cannot live without seeing the shadows of her family.

Instead, Cassandra goes to the castle library. She knows this place by heart. She knows that if you take a right turn right after the history books, you would find the old sketchbook that is stuck between two Encyclopedias. It used to belong to Percy. Sketches of modified crossbows, some alchemical lab designs, and a half-elven girl he saw in Syngorn. Cassandra was not going to mention the similarities between the sketch of the girl and Vex'ahlia. If you walk straight to the back wall and then turn back and look at the side of the bookcase, there are still some of Julius’ carvings. Most of them are names of his past mistresses. There is one book that she is looking for right now. She remembers Percy mentioning something about a noble king and his loyal knights. Some fictional badassery and loyalty couldn’t hurt right now.

What was the name of the book again? Something about a table…

A new table should be added to her list of things to buy. She cannot stand to look at the same rectangular mess that stands in the dining hall right now. A deep brown with a wobbly leg and a bloodstain on the right side. Maybe a round table would be a nice change of atmosphere. Just one side.

As she gets lost between the shelves, she hears footsteps in the hall, and then the door creaks open.

“Lady Cassandra?” Must be one of the new guards or servants.

“Yes, what is it?” She calls back, setting a book about the Feywild back on the shelf.

“A visitor from Emon seeks an audience with you.”

Emon? That must be one of the people Vox Machina said could come and look at the Spinning Black Orb of Death. Cassandra tries not to think of the deadly marble often. It's always there though, possibly eating away at her house.

“Lead me to them.”

Cassandra has not thought much of what Vox Machina’s friends would be like. Everyone in the group was so different. Would their friends be knights in shining armor? Or mages in enchanted cloaks?

The ones she meets are both. She is greeted by a beautiful human woman in a deep blue dress. She has long blonde hair in two heavy braids that rest on her shoulders. She introduces herself as Allura Vysoren, a member of the Council of Tal’Dorei and a close friend of Vox Machina. Beside her is a man who she introduces as Drake Thunderbrand, an Elementalist.

“Percival sent me a letter, describing what they know about the orb so far, which is not much,” Allura says as the three of them walk to the Ziggurat. A little farther behind are two guards for safety sake, but even with them there, Cassandra doesn’t feel exactly protected. What good were the guards on That Night? She keeps a hand on her rapier.

“It’s a result of a failed ritual that was meant for the Whispered One,” Cassandra responds. She dares not say the name of that monster.

"The Whispered One…" the Arcanist repeats after Cassandra and looks back at her companion, who simply nodded.

They keep walking in silence. Lady Allura seems nice. Reserved and careful with her words. She looks very put together. There isn't a stray hair in her braids. Cassandra bites her lip and tucks a grey strand of her own hair behind her ear. 

Cassandra turns to face the guests, "although we have been working on cleaning up the Ziggurat, I must warn you. It isn't the most welcoming place." As if the rest of the castle was all that homey. It was an empty, terribly lonely place that reeked of tragedy. Maybe a new table would be a nice change of scenery. Maybe some new drapes over the windows, and a new painting.

The guests nod and keep walking until the Arcanist stops. Her eyes narrow as she shakes her head, "there is some sort of an anti-magic field." They press on. Magic was not something that Cassandra cared deeply about. The only magic she has truly known was used to hurt and manipulate her. 

Cassandra pauses a little ways away from the orb, motioning for the other two to keep going. She looked straight at the orb, trying not to look at the bloodstained walls, or the bucket filled with soapy water in the corner as a brave servant tries to wash the walls clean. As they hear steps they look away from the crimson and to Cassandra. She bows her head and the servant takes the bucket and leaves with a small nod.

Lady Vysoren takes out her book and flips through the pages. Cassandra expects the staff in her hands to glow, but it doesn't. She whispers something to Elementalist Thunderbrand. The two sigh and walk closer.

They do a few experiments, Cassandra watches, unable to look away.

The guests stay for a few days. They share meals and discuss the Ziggurat. Sometimes they talk about trade possibilities between Emon and Whitestone. Lady Vysoren mentions Percival and his friends, she mentions just what happened before they came to Whitestone. Her mood seems to lighten as she mentions the team, a gentle smile playing on her lips. Cassandra returns a slight smile, and the conversation goes back to politics. The smile feels forced. Cassandra hasn't smiled genuinely in so long.

One day Cassandra feels uneasy as if something terrible had happened. There is a pain in her chest and she keeps thinking of Vox Machina. She cannot focus on the letters that she is supposed to finish. Emon, Westruun, Ank'harel. Trade routes, treaties, dinners. She doesn't want to deal with this, but she tries her best until a servant knocks on her door calling her for lunch with Arcanist Vysoren and Elementalist Thunderbrand. 

When she comes down to the dining room, she notices Arcanist Allura Vysoren with her eyes closed and her hand to nursing her forehead.

"Lady Vysoren, is everything alright?" Cassandra asks, taking her spot at the head of the table.

"I feel as if one of my teleportation circles has been destroyed. Something terrible could have happened."


	2. Someone tell lady luck that I'm stuck here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There haven't been many visitors to Whitestone who brought good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of Chapter from: Little Shop Of Horrors - Skid Row (Downtown)

The guests don’t stay for long. Lady Vysoren says that they are going back to Emon. They vanish in a cloud of sparks and electricity.

It has been a few hours since they left. Cassandra is back at work. Well, physically, she is in the study, but she cannot focus. Her mind is far away from Whitestone. Her mind is in Emon with her brother. Is he safe from what had happened? He has to be. He can’t leave her again, right? He is alive. He’s going to come back to Whitestone and explain what happened. What would she do if he died? No. He can’t be dead.

"Lady Cassandra," there is a knock on the door that brings her back home. She shakes her head, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. Maybe it could get the image of her brother dying out of her head. 

"Yes?"

“I am sorry to disturb you from work, but there is a guest,” the voice calls from across the door. Cassandra sighs quietly. She wants to go back to bed; however, it is possible that having to make sure that the guest had a place to stay and work could distract her enough from her worries.

It does. Cassandra meets Realmseer Ryndarien. She cannot recall if she has ever met a person as picky as him. This house is not big enough, this one is too dusty, this one has too many rooms. Numerous hours passed before they found a home that fit his standards. While they were searching, and he was not complaining, Cassandra explained the Ziggurat situation. Rather than seeming worried or unsettled, the Realmseer appeared to be irritated with it. After she finished explaining, he pushed her out of the door, leaving her alone with the cold wind. Cassandra is confident that she enjoys the presence of Arcanist Vysoren more than that of the Realmseer.

Cassandra inhales, letting the cool air fill her lungs. She hasn’t walked outside of the castle in a long time. She’s been caught up in work for weeks. The last time she did come outside was Winter’s Crest, but that did not last for long. She wasn’t and still isn't sure if she was worthy to stand by her people during a celebration. She turned away from the door and walked back to the castle.

It's strange, but it is now that she notes that the castle is a lot warmer than the air outside. When They were still here, there was barely any difference. It seemed that His cold presence and Her necrotic magic devoided anything of warmth. Back to work, she goes. The setting sun is starting to paint the edges of the sky red when she looks up from the parchment. Still no news from Arcanist Allura Vysoren or Percival. The unnerving worry is back. This time it is getting harder to handle by the second. It becomes stifling. Her head is pounding. Her chest is filled with pain. She can’t breathe in here. She has to get out.

She gets up from the table and makes her way to the watchtower. Cassandra leans against the cold stone by the window and just breathes. The cold feels like a nice change from the hot room. The chill air fills her lungs yet again. She doesn’t know what's happening. She doesn't know why her heart hurts, her hands shake, and her head is spinning. She takes the stone in her pocket and holds it close to her chest. It’s going to be alright. Whitestone was freed less than a month ago.

Her hands are still shaking, and the pounding in her chest does not lighten, but the chill air has seemed to calm her nerves. Tonight, she falls asleep with the stone still held close to her chest.

Her sleep is restless; however, the nightmares are nothing like before. The villains of the past are gone. Instead, she sees Whitestone. The winter cold is even worse now. The town is nothing like before. There are no decorations on the Sun Tree or the small flames of the oil lamps. Instead, it is a frozen, desolate, ruin. There are no people, just figures of ice that resemble the citizens. Her warm breath vaporizes into a white cloud as she feels a cold wind pass through her. She turns back to the castle and a White Ancient Dragon lands down atop it, crushing the walls to stone. The Dragon inhales, and Cassandra's vision goes white before she is whisked back to the dark oblivion.

Cassandra wakes up shivering, only to feel a breeze through the open window that she doesn't remember leaving it open. She walks up to the window and sees people gathering outside of the castle. They are being led by someone in a familiar blue coat, their white hair nearly blending in with the snow. Percival! She rushes down the stairs. The fact that she fell asleep in her street clothes did not matter. “Percival, you’ve returned.”

Cassandra's walls drop as she sees her brother again. He is here in Whitestone. Alive.

With deep circles under his eyes and dirt in his hair, it isn't hard to see that Percival is tired. She wants to reach up and brush out the dirt, but she doesn’t. They aren’t there yet. 

Percival sighs, “things are not going well. Have you heard any news of Emon and what has been transpiring there?” This could be the reason for the pain in her chest. She did not notice that it eased as soon as she saw her brother.

“No, we’ve been focused on restoring our city. Why?”

“Yesterday, we were attacked by a group of chromatic dragons. The city is destroyed...” Cassandra does not listen to the rest. The chromatic dragons are now flying through the land and destroying cities that she was forging alliances with. Percival's words bring her out of the terrifying trance. “ I was hoping that it would be alright if we moved a small number of refugees through to Whitestone for the time being. Less than a hundred, I imagine. These are the first 20-some-odd that we’ve pulled through.”.

Cassandra studies the people behind her brother. They are terrified and cold. They resemble the citizens of Whitestone back when They were in power. She still remembers the cold hands on her shoulders as she shares the plan to attack. Cassandra hesitates. Could Whitestone handle more people? The town doesn't have a choice. She snaps her fingers calling two guards to come from their patrol. “Please, if you would make sure to find any of the various unoccupied buildings are provided to these refugees. Thank you.” With a nod, the guards gather the refugees and walk away from the castle. It's just her and Percival again. “For better or for worse, we happen to have a number of vacancies in the city due to recent events. But–”

"Oh! Well, yes. Nothing I– Anything I should know about?" Percy cuts in. Cassandra hesitates.

Yes, there is so much he should know about. He should know about how every morning Cassandra finds another grey hair, or how whenever she sees a knife she cannot help but ache for the feeling of the cold metal against her skin, or how she has not slept well in years, or how she cannot get out of bed some mornings, or how she cannot find joy in her old hobbies, or how she keeps seeing ghosts of their siblings in the halls. Maybe he should know about how scared she is to go out into the town and look her people in the eyes. How guilty she still feels for betraying them time and time again. How she some days she does not dare to call herself a de Rolo.

No. He shouldn't know any of that. He has bigger things to worry about. Like the ancient dragons. 

"No, just–" she exhales "-we’ve lost many in the struggle against the Briarwoods. But yes, they will be provided for, I assure you.” Her tone changed to the one she uses when talking about politics. Cassandra is once again building up the walls. It was a bad idea to let those walls drop in the first place.

"So I will let you know to stop all business with Emon for now. Be very wary, prepare the city for a possible dragon attack. Things are looking dark." He lists. There is a worry in Percival's voice that even he cannot mask. "And if it’s possible, any research– any energy that can be put forward towards mounting some sort of defense against these creatures would be greatly appreciated." Cassandra doesn't know just how much energy she has. Or even worse, she doesn't know how much energy Whitestone has left.

"Well, we had a few individuals that were researching the ziggurat beneath the city. Two left not too long ago and we had one arrive just the other day.”

His eyes seem to light up slightly, which hurts. He didn't seem as happy to see his sister. "Who arrived the other day?" 

Cassandra furrows her eyebrows, “I cannot recall his name– Realm Seeker," the name is on the tip of her tongue, but she can't remember it, "Realm Seer– I’m not–”

Percival's eyes widen, "please bring me to him."

With a nod, Cassandra leads the way. They walk in silence. There is an awkward tension that neither of them seem to know how to break yet. They keep walking and walking. Cassandra wants to say something but quickly backs away from that idea. She doesn’t know what to say. They keep walking.

"You know, I missed the cold," Percival finally breaks the silence, "it isn't quite the same anywhere else. Not quite as cold."

Cassandra smiles a little. It's been a lot colder this year than it has been in a while. With Them around, there was barely any difference between the seasons. "Unmatched even by a white dragon?" She recalls him telling a story about the dragon in Vasselheim. Vex'ahlia, him, and a few others had to kill a dragon for the Slayer's Take.

"Not really. This is comforting, that was just fucking terrifying,” he huffs.

Cassandra can’t help but chuckle. Then she straightens her back and coughs, mocking Vesper’s tone, “Percival Fredrickstein, how dare you curse in front of your younger sister?” They both hold back for a bit, before starting to laugh.

It feels... Nice, but foreign. She can barely recall when was the last time she has heard Percy laugh. It was years ago, even a while before Them. She was still a child. They had snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night, only a few days before her birthday. She remembers the cold stone against her feet, and the flickering candlelight as they raced down the halls. 

The two stay like this for a minute. A long-forgotten wave of happiness over them. Noticing a few looks from the citizens, Cassandra coughs, “okay, okay,” she manages through, “we should probably keep going.”

It takes a bit of time to get to the current home of Realmseeker. (Realmseer? Realm-Asshole). As soon as they get there, Percy gets whisked away talking to the-- Magic guy, and Cassandra disappears into the shadows, making her way back to the castle. 

She wants to go back to work, but she can’t. Emon and Westrunn are now out of commission, so she can’t write letters there, nor can she write to Ank’harel now. It’s too dangerous for letters to be delivered overseas. She looks through the papers on her desk. A few of them are about the inner-workings of Whitestone, but many of the issues have been resolved. Maybe it’s time to focus on the castle itself. Commissioning the citizens of Whitestone could help the economy quite a bit. There was a need for curtains, books, and pillows. The kitchen needs new silverware and plates. There were paintings in need of restoration, and some new art could not hurt. The dining table, yet again she goes back to it and the bloodstained side. She wants a new circular dinner table. No more angles. Cassandra takes some parchment and starts writing. There are definitely woodworkers around, and the Parchwood forest is a lot safer now.

Cassandra keeps writing. The table, the curtains, the silverware. All of it seems to bring a sense of calm to her. The castle is slowly healing. It has been ever since Vox Machina saved it. First, it was the music room. That bard was very insistent that music can help Cassandra herself.

There was a knock on the door. "Cass? It's Percy," he walks in, not waiting for an invitation. Right. Only vampires need to be invited to places to enter them.

"I hope he's been helpful, brother."

"No, he wasn’t helpful, but it was very  
helpful the way he wasn’t helpful."

"He’s a very strange man," she says, finally looking up from the parchment.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he says, running his hand through his hair. Cassandra isn’t sure if he says this to her or himself.

“I hope so," she shrugs.

Silence settles between them. It’s not as awkward as it was before.

For years she used to hate silence. It was hard to tell what was hiding in it. Spirits, undead servants, even the Briairwoods themselves would often hide it the dark corners. Sylas used to silently wrap his strong arms around her and sink his teeth into her neck. Before her screams would break the silence, but at a point, she didn't feel the pain anymore.

“Thank you. I will return very soon,” Percival looks back to her, “We will, again with your permission, hopefully, be using Whitestone as a place to regroup and prepare ourselves.”

Cassandra nods and pushes away the parchment on the table. It was something about needing table cloths. “Is there worry that these dragons might come here?” Percival nods. “How will we stop them?” The small number of people who volunteered to be guards of Whitestone were still untrained. They were not enough to fight against dragons. Some of them could barely hold a sword.

“You’ll hide. I have thoughts, perhaps of a weapon. I don’t know. But we’re going to find a way to stop them.” We. what does he mean by “we”? The people of Whitestone are still healing, the city only recently woke up again. They can't fight. Cassandra can't fight.

She goes along with it, “we have to.”

This is wrong. All of it. Cassandra sitting at the desk that used to be her father's. She is a Lady of Whitestone. *The* Lady of Whitestone. This was not supposed to happen. Julius was going to be the Lord, and Cassandra would be his advisor, if even. Maybe she would be married to someone in Emon. Anything but this was supposed to happen. 

No.

It did happen. This is what their fate is now. There is no point in looking back anymore. Julius is gone.

Percival clears his throat, “I’m not good at being the bearer of any bad news,” he shifts in his place, “but this is very dangerous and-” he runs his hand through his hair again, “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

What could they do? Her brother is right. They could hide. Should hide. They have no more than a hundred untrained guards who only joining to earn enough money to survive. That reminds her, she should send for someone more prepared to train them. No, she can't. Besides hiding, what could they do? “Neither do I.”

Whitestone must be protected. Not just Whitestone, all of Exandria. The only people she can think of who could take on a dragon are…. Vox Machina. Percy.

“Stay safe, Percival.”

“I shall return soon,”

“I hope so,” she purses her lips together, “we’ll do what we can in the meantime to see to your refugees.” She pulls takes out some new parchment. Time for more paperwork. The tablecloths can wait. “Maybe hopefully try and prepare ourselves.”

“There will be a few more through,” Percival rubs the back of his neck again, “possibly tomorrow, with word.”

She nods and stands up from the desk, walking up to him. There is a moment of hesitation before she takes her brother's hand. Carefully, watching him. Taking a few bricks down from the walls of whitestone she built around herself. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

“You’re all I have left,” the wall cracks. Loneliness and fear finding a way to erode through the stone. No. She isn’t going to cry. It isn’t the time. He needs her to be strong. He needs her to stand up and run the town. Nobody needs her as an emotional mess. She can't afford to be an emotional mess.

“Cassandra,” he brings up his free hand to her shoulder, “I’m proud of you. You’re doing very well here.”

She huffs, “There’s still a ways to go, brother.”

“We’ll get there.”

Cassandra nods, staying still for a bit. "We'll". She will remember that. Both of them will help their town. 

She let’s go of his hand and reaches for the blue stone in her pocket. It's cold but not as cold as the Whitestone Winters. She hands it to him as they exchange another glance. He closes his eyes and vanishes.

Cassandra gets to work. No time to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be edited months ago, I am so sorry. It had it's ups and downs which kept me from writing too much of it. I'm not the biggest fan of writing the conversations as they happened in the show, as that doesn't leave much for creativity, but there will be a lot less "canon" interactions soon enough! Thanks to everyone who stuck with this.  
Comments are loved <3
> 
> Also what's happening with the notes??

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I started this as a vent, hence the reason the beginning is so gruesome, but I ended up really liking the concept, so here is more! I'd love to hear your feedback on this! Cassandra deserves so much love what a baby. It was also really awkward to call Allura, Lady Vysoren, but we'll get to calling her by her first name at some point.


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